Protective
by Dreamin
Summary: Molly witnesses a murder and has to go into hiding. Mycroft assigns Seb to be her bodyguard.
1. Chapter 1

Having known the world's only consulting detective for three years and having dated the world's only consulting criminal for three weeks, Molly Hooper thought it was completely ironic that she ended up in protective custody for witnessing a murder that had nothing to do either of them.

It was almost a year after Sherlock and Jim's confrontation on Bart's roof. Molly had been walking to the Tube station when she saw a man gunned down in an alley. She got a good look at the killer when he turned to her then she took off running and didn't stop until she found a cab. Her heart didn't stop racing until she was sitting in Greg's office with a cup of crappy coffee and a stale donut.

The dead man's body was found and identified. When Molly picked a photo of the killer out of a database, Greg swore under his breath – the two men were from rival gangs. Within fifteen minutes of taking her statement and putting her in official protective custody, his mobile rang. One look at the caller ID had him rolling his eyes but he took the call.

"Yes?" He paused, glaring at the unseen caller. "Now see here, Mycroft…"

Molly's eyes widened. _Mycroft? What's he got to do with this?_ She hadn't seen Sherlock's older brother since Christmas Eve but she knew he'd been almost as necessary in Sherlock's "death" as she herself had been.

"My men are more than capable," Greg was saying. Another pause then he sighed quietly. "Alright, but only because it's what Sherlock would have wanted. I expect to be kept in the loop." He hung up then looked at Molly. "Mycroft's sending someone for you, he'll take you to a government safe house."

"Where?"

"That's apparently above my pay grade," Greg muttered then saw the worried look on her face. "You'll be fine, Molly," he assured her. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

"How long is this going to last?" she asked quietly.

"Until the trial."

"That could take months."

"We'll try to move things along faster." He smiled a bit. "Bart's can't get along without you."

Molly's eyes widened. "Oh God, my job, Toby…"

"Mycroft said he'll tell your boss you're taking a leave of absence. His PA is going to pack a bag for you and Mycroft himself will catsit." He smirked. "Apparently, he likes cats."

 _That … makes sense, actually._ She relaxed as much as she could, given the circumstances. "Alright. Thanks, Greg."

He chuckled. "Don't thank me, I'm just the messenger."

Molly nearly jumped out of her skin when her mobile rang. Forcing herself to calm down, she glanced at the display – an unknown caller – then answered it. "Hello?"

"I'm sending you the name and photo of the man I've placed in charge of your safety," Mycroft said.

Despite everything, Molly couldn't help rolling her eyes. "Hello to you too, Mr. Holmes."

There was a pause then she heard him conversing with someone but she couldn't make out the words. After a moment, he spoke up. "Forgive me, Dr. Hooper. Your world has been upended, I should at least try to be civil."

She sighed. "It's alright."

Her mobile chirped, announcing the arrival of a photo. Molly opened it then scowled in confusion. _I know him from somewhere, but where?_ The man in the photo looked to be in his mid-to-late-thirties, with a more muscular build than any man she knew. He was looking at the camera, his ruggedly handsome features and slate blue eyes telegraphing his world-weary mood loud and clear. His ginger hair was military-short and there was a day or two's worth of matching stubble on his face.

"I know this man," she said. "At least, I think I do. I've seen him before. What's his name?"

"Sebastian Moran," Mycroft replied.

The memory came to her like a bomb dropping in her lap – _Jim showing her pictures on his phone from his trip home to Dublin to see his family. Amidst all the black-haired relatives, one tall ginger man stood out._

" _Who's that?" she asked._

 _Jim smirked. "Him? That's just Sebby. He's an old friend."_

" _What does he do?"_

" _He's a headhunter for a London firm." He chuckled like it was funny._

"Mr. Holmes, this man knew Jim Moriarty," she said, trying to keep from panicking.

"More precisely, he was Moriarty's right hand man."

"Wait, you knew?"

"Of course, it's why I hired him."

"But … how can you trust him?"

"Moran's only motivation is money. Provided he's well-paid, his loyalty is assured."

Molly glanced at Greg, who tried to pretend like he wasn't listening. "What would Sherlock say?"

"I've already texted him, he gave his reluctant approval."

 _I guess if he's good enough for Sherlock and Mycroft…_ "Alright."

"Thank you, Dr. Hooper. He'll be there shortly."


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian assessed the entire situation through the windows of the DI's office. His charge was nursing a cup of coffee in a chair in front of the desk while the DI himself was sitting on the desk, apparently trying to reassure her.

 _The job is simple – protect one of Sherlock's "goldfish" until the trial. Keep her safe and don't let her crack up from cabin fever, then get a fat paycheck. She looks to be the docile sort, this should be easy._ He walked into Lestrade's office, barely even looking at the DI before turning to the pathologist. "Moran," he said tersely by way of introduction. "You're coming with me, Dr. Hooper."

She set her coffee cup down then grabbed her bag and stood up. "I'm ready."

"Not like that, you're not." He held out the bulletproof vest he'd been carrying to her. "Put this on."

Her eyes widened. "Do … do you really think that's necessary?"

He raised an eyebrow. "D'you want to risk it?"

Dr. Hooper hesitated for a moment then put it on with Lestrade's help. On their way out the building, Sebastian told her to keep her head down.

"Bulletproof vests don't protect the head," he added.

She rolled her eyes but did as she was told, keeping close to him and keeping her head down as they walked to his car.

He opened the front passenger door. "Get in the footwell."

"Don't you think that's overdoing it just a tad?"

"You might be willing to risk your life but I'm not. Footwell."

She huffed in annoyance then got into the car and folded herself into the footwell. "Where are we going?"

"You'll know when we get there."

* * *

Their destination turned out to be a nondescript house in the middle of a nondescript street in the middle of a nondescript suburb of Edinburgh. As soon as they walked through the front door, Moran turned to her.

"Stay away from the windows and doors," he said. "And you're not leaving this house without me."

"Am I the witness or the suspect?" she asked, irritated. "It feels like I'm under house arrest."

"Protective custody," he corrected.

"And the difference is?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He smirked. "This doesn't go on your permanent record."

"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better." Not knowing what else to do, she decided to explore the house. The main floor had an open concept floor plan, the sitting room, dining room, and kitchen overflowing into each other's space. All three spaces looked like something out of an interior design magazine – picture-perfect, but definitely not lived-in. _Not exactly warm and cozy._

Upstairs, she found two bedrooms and two-and-a-half baths. Her suitcases were in front of the bed in the master suite. _If Moran objects, he's just going to have to deal._ She busied herself with putting her clothes away, grateful that Mycroft's PA packed only her most comfortable clothes. _I'll have to thank her when we get back._

Task done, she went back downstairs and found Moran at the dining room table, which currently resembled an arsenal. Two rifles, three pistols, a shotgun, six knives of various types and sizes, just as many grenades, three blocks of C-4, and a dozen boxes of ammunition were laid out. He was sharpening a seventh knife.

"Yes?" he asked, not looking up.

She looked over the collection warily. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you have permits for all of this."

He smiled to himself. "I'm an off-the-books assassin for Her Majesty's government, what do you think?"

"Right. Are they going to be out all the time?"

He looked up at her, smirking. "Does my equipment make you nervous, Dr. Hooper?"

Molly rolled her eyes. _He thinks he's so clever._ "I've done post-mortems on too many murder victims to ever be comfortable around guns and knives."

Moran shrugged. "Fair enough. I'll put them away as soon as I'm done."

"Thank you. So … what is there to do up here?"

He pulled a mobile out of his pocket and handed it to her. "That phone's about as secure as they come. Just don't tell anyone where you are."

"I'm going to need more than just my phone to keep me occupied." _I can't just surf all day, I'll go stir crazy._

"I'll tell Mycroft to send up your books or something."

"That'll help." After a moment, she added, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She had turned to go to the kitchen when he added, "While we're here, our cover is husband and wife."

She turned back to stare at him. "Um, no one is going to believe that."

He raised an eyebrow at her as he set the knife down with the others. "Why is that?"

"You're kidding, right? I mean, hot blokes don't marry mousey women." She felt even mousier in his presence. _He's not the nicest guy ever, but damn, he's hot…_

Moran smiled a bit. "Well then, it's a good thing for our cover that you're not mousey."


End file.
